


The Sacrifical Toaster and Other Experiments

by EbonyKnight



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, trigger warning: mention of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 02:05:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9857054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EbonyKnight/pseuds/EbonyKnight
Summary: Greg is at work when his ex-wife calls saying that he needs to collect his son immediately because she is going on holiday with the PE teacher. Sherlock saves the day. I suck at summaries.I'm afraid that a toaster is sacrificed for the sake of fluff, though.Please be aware that there is a brief mention of Greg's team investigating a suicide. No real details, though.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. Pity, because there would be more Greg and Mycroft, and John would be on a permanent trip to the antipodes. 
> 
> This was born of a conversation with CindyLouWho, and I blame her for the fluffiness that emerged as a result. 
> 
> This is straying into the realm of OOC but I did manage to write a story that doesn't bash John, so not a total fail. 
> 
> Not beta'd. I claim all mistakes for my very own. 
> 
> Feedback is loved. I do love to chat about these boys.

“Were these taken as soon as your people arrived?” John asked, looking over Sherlock’s shoulder at the crime scene photos. They showed Fatima Razaq laid prone across her bed, eyes sightlessly fixed on the ceiling, and they didn't get easier to look at with repeated viewing.

“Yeah. Jacques, the first officer on the scene, had to kick the door in because she didn’t have a clear view through the window, and there was a chance Fatima was alive. She took those waiting for my team and the SOCOs to arrive,” Greg replied, leaning back in his chair and running a frustrated hand through his hair. He was tired and headachy, and the case made no bloody sense. The preliminary autopsy results suggested suffocation and the initial impression had been one of suicide, but there was nothing close to the body that could have been used, nor had they found a note. “Donovan was in charge over the weekend and she did a thorough job. She checked the windows and they were all locked, and there was no way into the flat other than the through front door, which was locked when Jacques arrived.”

“Cause of death?” Sherlock asked, looking up from the photos. His hair was a riot of curls and had they been alone and not at work, Greg wouldn't have been able to keep his hands away. Judging from Sherlock’s smirk he knew exactly what Greg was thinking, and the older man felt his face heat at having been caught out. 

“Suffocation. We’re waiting on lab results for confirmation, but Molly’s sure.”

John moved from behind Sherlock and sat down, the chair creaking under his weight. “Why didn’t you call us in sooner? You know how much Sherlock loves a locked room mystery.”

“I had the weekend off so Donovan was in charge,” Greg replied shortly. Tired and frustrated as he was, he knew that telling John that he had called _Sherlock_ in, not _them_ wouldn't go down well, no matter how funny he thought the doctor’s reaction might be. 

“Why is this being treated as murder? From the position of the—” Sherlock started, but quieted when Greg’s phone started vibrating on his desk.

Greg fought a groan when he saw his ex-wife’s name flash up on the screen. “Sorry, give us a minute,” he said and accepted the call. “What’s up, Kaz?”

“Dave's booked a surprise half-term break to Rome, so I won’t be able to have Jacob for the week. Can you come and get him before two?” Kaz asked, and he could hear Dave, the PE teacher, shouting something in the background. “Hang on, Greg.” The sound of the handset being covered followed and she shouted back that whatever he was looking for was in the cupboard under the stairs. Her distraction gave Greg’s brain time to process what she had said, and he was suddenly livid. Jacob, their six year old son, had lived with Greg since their final separation, but usually stayed with Kaz at the weekends and over school holidays. Jacob looked forward to the time with his mum, and it gave Greg a much needed break. “Right, sorry about that.”

“Hasn’t Dave worked out by now that Jacob spends school holidays with you?” Greg demanded furiously, forgetting that Sherlock and John were even in the room. 

“Really, Greg, when else are we meant to go away? We’re both teachers so he booked it for when we’re off. It’s our anniversary and he wants to celebrate it away from home,” Kaz replied, and Greg could tell from the tone of her voice that she knew she was in the wrong but was going to defend Dave at all costs anyway. 

“I don’t give a shit about that! I’m at work; I can’t just leave because your boyfriend—”

“—Well, you’re going to have to sort something out, aren’t you? Dave’s booked the taxi to take us to the airport for three, so that gives you plenty of time to arrange cover and come and pick him up. Look, I’ve got to go. I knew nothing of this until twenty minutes ago and need to sort Jacob’s lunch and pack. See you in a bit.” She ended the call, and Greg stared at his phone, seething. 

“John, go and get Greg a coffee,” Sherlock said, standing up and walking around to Greg’s side of the desk, though Greg was so angry that he barely registered the movement. Kaz had always been a self-centred cow, but this was a whole new level of selfishness, and he couldn't believe that she was actually doing it. 

“Yeah, of course,” John replied and left the office, closing the door firmly behind himself. 

Sherlock pushed a pile of files aside and perched on the edge of the desk. “I’ll go and get Jacob. I’ve got nothing on for the rest of the week because London’s criminal classes are being boring, so you don’t need to worry about childcare.”

“You don’t have to—” 

“—Shut up, idiot,” Sherlock interrupted, moving in for a brief kiss. It soothed some of Greg’s anger, but the angle was poor and neither the mood nor place were right for anything more. “If - as you repeatedly claim - we are partners, you'll let me help with this.”

“You shouldn’t have to! He’s not your responsibility,” Greg insisted, feeling guilty. Sherlock was brilliant with Jacob, but he shouldn't have to give up his time because Kaz was an irresponsible mother.

“Wrong: you’re my partner and he is your son. I accepted that I would be spending significant amounts of time with him when we moved our relationship on from sporadic sexual encounters. I’m more than capable of taking care of him for a few hours when you’re at work.” Sherlock cupped Greg’s cheek and the older man unconsciously leant into the warmth of his partner’s hand.

The door banged open and John re-entered the office, a mug of coffee in one hand and a brown folder wedged under his other arm. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” he said, looking at them with amusement writ large across his face, and put the folder and mug down within Greg’s reach. “Donovan gave me the file. Said something about a psychiatrist’s report indicating that Fatima was a known suicide risk.”

“As I thought,” Sherlock declared, standing up. “The position of the body and lack of any evidence indicating murder are strongly suggestive of suicide. It’s highly likely that she committed suicide and that someone discovered her body and removed the evidence. For many people it would be preferable to have a family member’s death recorded as murder rather than suicide.” He shrugged into his coat and looped his scarf snuggly around his neck. “I’ll collect Jacob now.”

Glancing briefly at the report from the psychiatrist, Greg thought it very likely that Sherlock was right, sad as it was. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Of course I’m sure. We’ve got an experiment from last week to finish so there will be plenty to keep us occupied.”

John snorted, drawing Greg’s attention. “You’re really going to leave a six year old with Sherlock without adult supervision?” 

“Course I am, if he's offering. Aside from needing a new washing machine the other month there’s never been a problem. They end up covered in God knows what most days, but it’s nothing that a shower can’t fix.”

“The washing machine was defective and had it coming; what Jacob learnt about mechanics was more than worth the sacrifice,” Sherlock said with laughter in his voice. “I’ll see you later, Lestrade.”

*******

By the time Greg arrived home, night was well and truly falling and he was exhausted. Clearing up the case once they knew what had transpired should, in theory, have been easy, but that kind of discussion with family members was never simple. He should, perhaps, have reprimanded Fatima’s younger sister, but finding her sister’s body and the ensuing panic about what she had done had been more than traumatic enough.

The hall light was on and Sherlock’s designer shoes were beside Jacob’s Turtles trainers on the shoe rack. Greg kicked off his own shoes and hung up his coat, noting that his partner’s and son’s coats, hung side-by-side from hooks behind the door, were damp. It had stopped raining a good few hours ago so they must have been home for a while. 

“Where’re you two hiding?” he called out on not finding them in the living room. Jacob’s almost-finished Lego pirate ship was on his play table under the bay window and there were several story books scattered across the large sofa. 

“We’re here, Daddy!” Jacob called, and Greg followed his voice and the smell of dinner through to the kitchen. 

The sight that met him when he entered the room halted Greg in his tracks: Jacob was wearing a Turtles costume that Greg _knew_ had not been in his wardrobe that morning, and there was a gutted toaster in the middle of the dining table, its innards strewn across the table top. 

“Don’t worry, I bought a replacement toaster,” Sherlock said. Greg looked at him, sitting beside Jacob with the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up to his elbows and hair an absolute mess, and fell for him all over again. “We stopped at Sainsbury’s on the way back. We bought a kettle to study tomorrow, and the ingredients to make stew. Yours is in the oven.”

“We’ve already fixed the toaster once, Daddy! All the pieces have to go back in _exactly_ right or it won’t work. _And_ Sherlock let me help with dinner and it was really nice! We didn’t even burn the beef like you did,” Jacob babbled, smiling hugely. 

Seeing the two most important people in his life happy, surrounded by the detritus of a day spent cooking and, apparently, autopsying the toaster, Greg felt his heart swell. He crossed the room and bent down kiss the top of Jacob’s messy head, smoothing his brown hair down as much as he could without the aid of a wet comb. “If it’s as good as it smells you’ll definitely have to make it again.”

Sherlock stood up, bracing his hands on Greg’s hips, and leant in for a sweet, chaste kiss. “Well, we’ve got the rest of the week to experiment. How do you feel about ratatouille tomorrow?”


End file.
